Irrational
by OMhypothesis
Summary: Spock contemplates the differences between Terran and Vulcan cultures, and learns a valuable lesson about the usefulness of games. Silly, one-shot, T for language.


Humans were so irrational. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, feeling it spring back into the sleek, tidy cap it always was. A Vulcan should never be prone to fidgeting, but then again, any reasonable being would have lost his mind after weeks in the company of madmen.

It wasn't that his race was without emotion. Recent events could certainly testify to that. It was that emotion was regarded as the weakness it was and carefully controlled, channeled into productive grooves, stored away until the imperative to mate or fight required it. Humans had no need to ration emotion, since they seemed to be able to produce that inner fire on demand. Nevertheless they seemed shallow, erratic, like poorly constructed combustion engines, all rattles and sparks. Young human men and women practically oozed adrenalin (if one could pardon the metaphor). It made his head ache.

No, the main difference between Vulcans and humans was not the capacity for emotion. It was not even the capacity for reason; humans could be supremely logical under the right circumstances. For example, Spock recognized the potential of James Kirk's mental machinery. Sometimes the Captain would slip into a recognizable focus, a laser-like intensity filling his brilliant eyes, and in those moments he blazed through tangled labyrinths of thought more quickly than many a Vulcan strategist. In the right mood Jim Kirk could utterly annihilate an opponent (chess was a good control). Ten steps ahead and still reacting instantaneously to new data, cool and calm and completely unmoved by mercy or sentiment.

The problem was that Captain Kirk, or really any human, couldn't sustain this focus. Or if they could they weren't willing to. They inevitably lapsed back into the volatile pools of feeling they seemed content to wallow in. It was almost as if Terrans were a race of drunks, utterly debauched 90% of the time. Not respectable. Not useful. Extremely strange.

"Spooooock," Jim whined (a singularly unattractive method of conversing). "Come play with me! I got a new set just for us and you keep putting me off and it's no fair!"

"Playing is for children, Captain. If you wish to _engage_ in a match of chess, I will indulge you at this time."

"Oh please. It's playing. It's a game, therefore - playing."

"Chess is a symbolic exercise designed to enhance one's methods of strategy. It strengthens the pathways in the mind that lead to successful deductive and inductive reasoning. Any enjoyment derived comes from our mutual evolutionary drive to compete, and while not unpleasant, is ultimately irrelevant."

"Anyone ever told you you're extremely grumpy after a survey? Take white this time, since you're feeling so aggressive."

"I am _feeling_ nothing of the kind. I assure you your attempts to put me at a disadvantage will not succeed." Spock made a careful move on the 3D board and waited. Jim scanned the set quickly and made a seemingly random foray. Spock contemplated. The Captain was a difficult opponent to predict. Sometimes he began the match with a carefully thought out strategy, and other times Spock suspected he was just throwing pawns around haphazardly until something occurred to him. The latter method usually resulted in a win - for Jim.

"There's nothing wrong with playing," the human said mildly, in continuance of the earlier theme.

"It serves no purpose and is a waste of time and resources. Those are two strong arguments against the practice," Spock replied, fingering a white piece thoughtfully.

"On the contrary, playing as a practice promotes relaxation and mental health. Like meditation."

"Meditation is an exercise in control. Control of the body, control of the mind. My people have refined the art of meditation over millennia until the results are quantifiable and satisfactory."

"Okay. But if your object is to leave your mind, rather than entrench yourself in it, playing is the better option." Spock glanced up at the blond man, puzzled.

"Why would you wish to become mindless?" he queried.

"Sometimes thoughts become toxic," Jim explained. "The mind worries at them and becomes stuck in a negative loop. Instead of trying to brute-force your way through, sometimes it's better to let the puzzles of the mind rest and come back to them later when you are refreshed."

"This is not an entirely foreign concept. I find meditation achieves a similar effect with less expenditure of energy."

"Well, playing has another benefit. It makes you happy."

Spock felt his eyebrows lifting. "It makes you... happy," he repeated dubiously.

"Don't _play_ dumb with me, Spock. It doesn't suit you."

Spock found himself grumbling, an action that occurred with alarming frequency around James T. Kirk. "You are attempting to bait me in the hopes that this will diminish my ability to strategize. As a courtesy I must inform you that your underhanded tactics are to no effect. Prepare for defeat."

"Oh, kettle! You're clearly no stranger to underhanded tactics, if that spectacular demonstration of the art of deflection is any indication." Jim made a quick move and subsequently derailed the Vulcan's current plan of action. "Are you saying you don't get any enjoyment out of this?"

"Irrelevant. And I fail to see what cooking utensils have to do with the topic," Spock groused, studying the board.

"Human vernacular. The full axiom is 'Like the pot calling the kettle black.' In other words, I am the kettle, and you are the sneaky Vulcan pot." Spock moved, and Jim raised his eyebrows. "Nice!"

"Flattery avails you nothing."

Jim flashed him a sly grin. "So you say."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Spock quashed him without mercy. What really rankled, however, is that the green-blooded sonovabitch kept that smug expression on his face all the way to alpha shift. Two hours in, Jim had had enough. Sauntering up to the Spock's console as if he wanted to read something, he swiftly poked the Vulcan in the side. "Tag, you're it!" he said.

The man stiffened and gave Jim an affronted look. "I beg your pardon."

"You're It," Jim said helpfully.

"I... Computer. Clarify exchange." The screen shifted, and Spock narrowed his eyes. "This is extremely juvenile."

"'This is extremely juvenile, _Captain_,'" Jim corrected.

"I refuse to be drawn in to this unnecessary and ridiculous exchange. Your time and mine would be better spent attending to our duties."

"Fine," Jim said cheerfully. "You can just stay It forever." His First Officer made an involuntary noise that was suspiciously close to a snarl, and reached for him. "Ah-ah! You can't tag the person who just tagged you. Them's the rules!"

Glaring, Spock stalked over to the helm and touched a single reluctant finger to Sulu's shoulder. "You are now It," announced coldly. "I trust this satisfies your requirements, _Captain_."

The pilot blinked, then snaked out a languid hand and poked Chekov directly in the center of his forehead. "Pavel's It," he proclaimed. Quick as a snakebite, the teenager tapped Spock's shoulder and laughed hysterically.

"It seems you are Eet again, Woolcan!" the boy chortled, clearly unaware of how close he was to death by strangulation. However, he was spared, as Spock turned a pair of murderous black eyes to the Captain's chair. Jim's eyes widened.

The very picture of slender menace, Spock advanced on his superior. Jim's legendary courage fled him, and he bolted for the elevator.

He skidded into sickbay, panting and hair wild. "Bones, hide me!" he begged, desperately glancing around the room for a covert spot. The doctor paused and looked up from his PADD to gape at him. The moment was broken as a certain furious Vulcan strode into the room. Jim scurried behind McCoy, using the doctor as a human shield. Spock was undeterred. Leaning over the desk, he snaked an ungentle hand out to grab Jim's wrist. "_Tag_," he hissed, clenching his long fingers onto Jim's sleeve painfully.

"What the hell?" Bones managed, looking back and forth at their faces.

"Bones," Jim whispered, agonized.

"Good God, Spock, what are you -" The doctor froze as he felt Jim gently squeeze his shoulder. "You're it," he said brightly, dipping away towards the door. He didn't get far, as Dr. McCoy quickly engaged the emergency lock.

"Nurse Chapel, come over here," the CMO growled. The blond woman warily approached. He touched her hand. "You're It. Now tag Spock." She blanched, but the dark man merely continued glaring at Jim. She patted his sleeve. "Tag, sir," she murmured. McCoy was twirling a hypospray in his calloused hands.

"Now Spock, tag me," said Bones dangerously. Jim's eyes grew to the size of saucers as his First Officer stalked over and brushed his new ally with pale fingers. Bones raised the hypospray. "_Get him_," he uttered grimly.

"_Captain Override_!" Jim shrieked, barely avoiding slamming into the door as it slid open. He was off down the hall like a shot, startled yeomen stumbling out of his way. Spock and the doctor exchanged dark glances. Bones twitched the instrument in his hands meaningfully.

"I won't be It for long," he promised. Spock inclined his head respectfully and made his exit.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Come in," said a grumpy voice through the door. Spock strode through, feeling unaccountably cheerful. Jim was rubbing a bruise on the side of his neck. His eyes narrowed when he saw his visitor.

"I hope you're happy with yourself," the blond boy muttered petulantly.

"I have located a particularly apt human idiom for this circumstance," Spock retorted archly. "I believe the phrase is, 'What goes around comes around.'"

"Yeah, well here's another one," Jim shot back. "It's 'Play with fire, prepare to get _burned_!'"

The Vulcan's face was twitching madly. After a moment of this Jim realized the man was struggling to control his breathing and failing, releasing little huffs of breath through his nose. "You're _laughing_ at me," Jim said incredulously. "You pointy-eared _asshole_!" This proved too much for Spock, who sat down and proceeded to snort helplessly into his cupped hands.

"You know," said Jim, struggling to regain the upper hand. "I thought Vulcans hated fun. What happened to 'Playing is illogical and happiness is irrelevant?' Because right now you seem pretty god-damned jolly."

"I concede that your former argument has merit. Witnessing your defeat at the hands of the foul-mouthed doctor has proven extremely enjoyable." Spock's lips twitched. Jim glared.

"Bastard," he snapped.

"Infant," Spock murmured fondly.

"Ugh!" Jim sighed dramatically. "Chess?"

"Affirmative."

Spock let him win.


End file.
